Sled

December 22, 2025

Greetings from the eternal moment,

He found the sled in an alley in town, nearly hidden in a jumble of things left from a fire.  The varnish was shredded and one wooden runner was cracked. He knew before he touched it was something he yearned for. In his woodshop he brought it back to life, fitted it with brass, carved the new runner from a piece of ash, rubbed it with his hands until it held part of him. He hung it in the rafters, waited for winter.

That year, the sled took them to Christmas for the first time. 

And then, from the time she was three, she answered the same way when he asked what she wanted for Christmas. It was a little one act play they did every year. He would pretend there were choices and Nila would pretend to consider them and then ask for the same thing.  Always.

Snow fell and filled the low places, buttered the windowsills, transformed the world into a new sculpture.  His days passed as they did, working, gathering wood, preparing food, caring for Nila. Every day he missed her mother, the loss of his soul’s mate. But as winter came on in earnest, the pain radiated out from his heart, until he felt the grief in every place his blood ran. It seemed forever that he seeped in that sadness, until he found the sled.  And the hope.

On Christmas Eve, he packed their things, trimmed Nila’s hair, her bangs a new angle each time and never as neat as he’d hoped.  He pumped fresh water and scrubbed her clean in the sink, the icy water making her squeal and squirm.  In the years it had been only the two of them, he’d never gotten good at any of this. He kept her clean but failed at putting proper clothes on her.  She always looked like she’d been dressed by ambush.

Nila held out her hands, and he fitted on the mittens that had belonged to her mother, still too large by far, and wound twine around the wrists so they wouldn’t slip off.  He gave her his hat with the big floppy woolen ears.  Around his own head he wound a thick scarf, pulled on his heavy canvas coat. He shouldered his pack and opened the front door of their home.  The sled waited in the snow, nearly glowing in anticipation.

He sat Nila on the sled and wound blankets around her, tucked a sack of dried apples and jerky next to her and then looped the sled rope around his shoulders.  And they set off. 

He pushed through the snow, felt the sled lift up and glide, watched his breath form ghosts in front of him. The moon idled, about to disappear, offering pale watch over them as they carved a new track in the world. An owl posed a question, not meant to be answered, and they tramped on.  The pines held thick layers of frosting, like giant cakes in a bakery window.

They reached the first ridge, and eased into the woods, and the moment their cabin disappeared behind them, he could feel the change, a vibration that made his skin tingle, the hair on his neck dance.  He took deeper breaths, trudging through the snow, the sled hissing on the powder behind him, his daughter making little songs in her nest of blankets.

The sun had just reached the tips of the trees on its usual route, seemed to pause, and then, as if it forgot something, began moving back to the east horizon.  The moon came back up behind them and arced across the dark sky, scattering stars in its path and then the sun hurled itself from the west, and streaked across after the moon. The world sang as it began to whirl backwards, faster, and then finding its pace, rushed to another time.

The seasons melted around them, the trees filling with green and then blushing and shedding their seasons.  The snow fell and fell away, and birds came and went in waves, their chorus a rushed calliope, soaring and fading.  Nila clapped in delight.

His legs churned through snow and then leaves and then snow again. He focused on the effort, but his mind was filled with the days of caring for his daughter alone, the ache of absence cold in his chest. Behind him, Nila oohed and ahhed at the streaks of lightning, the moon rising and filling and waning, the stars rolling like waves across the darkness.  The wind came and went like a sneeze, as time chased life back to the day, back to Christmas. She called out to her father to hurry and heard him laughing in reply.

He pulled the sled for hours as the months and years roared over them. Storms flashed by in a blink, summer idled barely long enough for him to loosen his scarf. Deer collected and scattered, rivers filled and retreated, and all the while above them the sun and moon pressed the world into years left behind.

He began to see the signs of where they began, the place they would end, and his thoughts turned to the woman who was waiting for them, and pressed harder against the rope. The game trail faded and reappeared as he watched, a tree fell and melted away, the path grew wider and more familiar.

And finally, the last night came, and the kaleidoscope slowed, just hours before the dawn, and then everything came to rest. The moon rushed from the horizon and shuddered to heel in the middle of the sky over the forest.  He peered through the woods in the half light, and he could see the glow of the fire, knew he would see their tent, the things of that last day together.

She sat on an old log by the fire, wearing one of his flannel shirts, her hair loose around her.  As they got closer, she looked up, and the fire was reflected in her eyes, and she smiled. Even with the snow all around, the place felt warmer because she saw them.

His breath caught as she stood up, and he felt the tears freeze at the edges of his eyes.  He kept pulling the sled, feeling Nila bouncing with excitement, until they were close enough to the fire to feel the heat.

And he heard his daughter say: “Momma!”

The three of them hugged by the fire, in a place where time didn’t matter, it was still an eternity none wanted to test.  When they finally relaxed enough to look at each other, eyes leaking the ache onto ruddy cheeks, they all laughed, because the smiles couldn’t be contained.  They held each other tightly enough so they could feel each other’s hearts beating.

The sled rested patiently in the snow, its tracks carving two lines back through the forest, back through the years to come, back to the time where grief hovered.  All that would wait for now.

The stars glittered proudly, the trees puffed clouds of snow in celebration, even the chilled air was brighter with crystals of winter.  Everything gave witness in that silent forest, where time was stilled, held in awe that Nila got the gift she asked for, the one she always chose each Christmas.

Hope this finds you unwrapping your favorite,

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith